


September - Autumn

by Ketlingr



Series: Calender Porn [7]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Autumn, M/M, Melancholy, Romance, Sex, fall - Freeform, farewell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 14:43:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ketlingr/pseuds/Ketlingr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But one of the shadows was alive and Frodo had hoped for that, but not dared to look and be disappointed. It moved and crouched behind him, wrapping his arms around the small figure and holding him close." </p><p>Frodo is about to leave all that he has ever known behind. His friend and lover is there to comfort him - and to say farewell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	September - Autumn

* * *

From up here on the hill, the forest looked as though it had been cast in bronze and gold, the rocks and the river running through it like a band of silver. Even the air had a metallic tinge, foreboding rain, although the sky was barely showing clouds. The wind and the shadows had a cold to it, but it was not yet able to drive away the sun and the light.  
Frodo sighed, his eyes moving over the landscape below him, his hands brushing through the grass to either side of him. He liked coming up here, it was a quiet place and although it was not far from the village, people rarely came up here. There was nothing to do here, not even a bench to sit on, just a few bushes to hide Frodo from view, in case someone did come up here. The branches and leaves in his back rustled with a gust of wind.  
He did not want to leave this place. His heart ached at the thought of it. However, his mind was restless, his body full of energy – there was no way he was going to stay here. Frodo knew that he was going far, far away and that he was not going to return. That this was the last evening he was going to spend on this hill, watching over the shire, with his friends waiting for him to return home.  
“I'm going to miss them”, Frodo mumbled, his words taken away by the wind, blown down to the silver river and dipping into the cold water, for nobody to hear, nobody but the shadows around the hobbit.  
But one of the shadows was alive and Frodo had hoped for that, but not dared to look and be disappointed. It moved and crouched behind him, wrapping his arms around the small figure and holding him close.  
“We will all miss you, too”, Aragorn said against the dark, curly hair. Frodo felt the rough stubble against the back of his neck, felt the breath against his cold skin – so very cold, he had not even noticed he was freezing. However, now that he was surrounded by Aragorn's warmth, he noticed what had been missing – what was going to be missing every day from the moment he left this place.  
“I'm afraid”, Frodo admitted, huddling against the tall human, almost disappearing in his embrace.  
“I understand”, Aragorn said. The sun was setting behind the forest, its light bringing a hint of gold to the silver, the shadows it cast bringing darkness over the burning flames that were the leaves of the forest.  
The two men sat in silence, a dissimilar pair of shadows against the evening sky. Aragorn's hands had found Frodo's, calloused fingers tracing the hobbit's skin, following the lines of Frodo's palms. This was the end, Frodo thought. The last time. Their last chance to say good bye.  
And his heart was beating so hard and so fast that it hurt, like a panicked bird trying to break from its cage. It was hard to breathe, he was drowning and it hurt, it hurt so much to know that the longer he stayed, the worse it was going to get. He could not stay. But how could he leave if it hurt him so?  
Suddenly, Aragorn's hand, his large, strong, comforting hand, came to rest on Frodo's chest, holding his heart in place, before it could break. A gentle kiss on the neck, Aragorn's breath in his hair, his firm body supporting Frodo's back, all of that helped calming him down and Frodo was grateful for it.  
Again they sat in silence, in stillness, the light of the day fading until it was dark. When the light was gone, Frodo turned around, startling Aragorn out of his thoughts. He turned and knelt between the man's legs, arms around his neck, his lips pressed firmly against Aragorn's lips. As though they had both waited for this moment, their bodies came alive, a restlessness stirring inside them that could only be quenched by touch, by smell, by closeness.  
There was a despair to Frodo's hands, clawing at the taller man's back, holding on to him; a need to Aragorn's hands moving below the hobbit's vest and shirt, following the curve of his body, feeling every inch of it, as though to remember it when his lover was gone. There was a wetness on Frodo's face, little droplets of liquid, reluctantly running down his cheeks and then the rain set in and it was impossible to tell whether he had been crying or it had just been the beginning of something greater.  
Aragorn gently pushed Frodo to lay on his back on the ground, leaning over him to shield the hobbit from the rain. It was not a hard thing to achieve, Frodo almost disappeared in the high grass, covered by Aragorn's tall, trained body hovering over him. They never once stopped kissing, Frodo's hands now running over the muscles of his lover's chest, while Aragorn almost impatiently pushed the hobbit's shirt up, his trousers down, to feel the skin on his when he removed his own shirt.  
The rain cooled his heated body, and he shivered, not only from cold, but also from arousal as his hand wrapped around Frodo's flaccid member. The smaller man was holding on to Aragorn again, biting his lip to choke a moan, even though whatever sounds of pleasure were to escape him were going to be drowned by the rain. Aragorn's ragged breath against his lips caused a tingle low in his body, he was ready for it, ready for their farewell.  
A finger penetrated his barriers and Frodo arched his back, gasping into their kiss. He opened himself to his lover, trusting him, needing him and his body adjusted to the intrusion. Too soon he wanted more, writhing and panting and Aragorn was eager to oblige. His body shifted and the lovers had to break their kiss as Aragorn moved to press his swollen tip against the hobbit's entrance. He could feel Frodo's fingers digging into his back, felt the nibbling and biting of small teeth on his chest and moved forward, steadily pushing into the smaller body beneath him until the head of his cock had found his lover's centre.  
Frodo groaned. It was a sweet pain, causing a rush of pleasure to run through his body and when he felt the big muscle move inside him, felt it flex with the smallest of Aragorn's moves he moaned, no longer holding himself back.  
Their pale forms danced in rhythm to the melody of the oncoming storm, the rain a steady staccato on their trembling bodies and the sound of Aragorn's thrusts, of their gasps and panting a hot company to hissing of the wind, the rustling of leaves on grass.  
And as the wind got stronger, howling around them, Frodo felt Aragorn's heat spread through him, filling him from the inside, shielding him from the cold. Laying down next to his lover, Aragorn held Frodo close, never once leaving his warmth, his hand rubbing the smaller man to the peak of his lust, his arm holding the slender body close, too close, too firm, too hard, but Frodo did not mind as his body convulsed, and his mind burst.  
Aragorn held his shuddering body close while they felt each other, the storm drowning their whispers as they said their farewell.


End file.
